


The Fall

by sasha_b



Series: Live By The Sword [63]
Category: King Arthur (2004), Original Work
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 05:37:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15112898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: Lancelot dances, and Arthur helps.





	The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Set during the time Arthur has just begun school at the academy, and Lance is still waffling with doing what his family says to do and not wanting to give up Arthur.

_I see you in a dream you turn and start to go_  
I call to you once more  
Guess that I’m takin’ the fall. 

The sky is clear for once; no smog or clouds or smoke from riots to ruin his view. The blinds on the sliding glass doors are drawn back, and thunderous bass shakes the walls of the loft. No interior lights are on, save the one little plug in of the Van Gogh piece by the couch.

“Duh duh duh duh duh duh…duh duh duh duh duh duh…” he sings aloud as though no one can hear him. The large old fashioned headphones wrap around his ears and skull, giving him an alien look, mashing his hair into weird shapes as his curls twine and wind around the band that crosses over his head. They are wireless; he has the freedom to dance about the room as he wishes. Lancelot is barefoot and bare-chested – he’s been home from a friend’s party for about thirty minutes and still has the desire to _move_ , thus, he’s dancing by himself. His leather pants are sweaty and he’s hot and thirsty but he hasn’t stopped moving around the loft since he got there and clapped the phones on. It’s old music – way, way old, truth be told, but he’s in the right frame of mind for cheese.

ELO fits the bill just fine.

He’s breathless and out of tune, but he’s spinning and twisting and sliding across the wooden floors and the words come from his strange memory as the song makes him smile.

_Our love couldn’t go wrong how could I know I was only dreaming_  
and now, now that you’re gone I will go on really believing  
I take the fall 

The sweat runs heavily down his angular face; he hasn’t shaved in a while and his goatee is beginning to get fuzzy and messy. He’ll take care of it in the morning – right now, he wants to shake loose whatever it is that’s wedged in his mind. And heart.

Arthur’s not home – school, surely, but Lance tries not to think on that. He tries to laugh at the silly lyrics and the memories the music brings – he can see himself and Gwen mocking the horrid clothing and singing along at the top of their lungs while watching the movie on their giant television, their house empty and oddly echo-y as they scream and laugh and hit each other and dance and cause havoc.

No one’s home. It doesn’t matter really what they do.

_our love couldn’t go wrong how could I know I was only dreaming_

Something flickers in Lance’s peripheral vision, and he turns his head to the glass doors while he dances. Lightning crackles across the sky again, and he moves closer to the door, and opens it, smelling the ozone laden air and shuts his eyes briefly. The beat calls, though, and even though it’s an old and stupid one, he still obeys, and shimmies out to the deck, leaving the door open behind him. A few drops of rain hit him, but not enough that he’s worried. He holds on to the railing a moment, his hips moving and bouncing to the bass, his mouth quietly forming the words of the song. White flashes fill the sky; it’s hypnotic and he raises his arms as he moves, his lean form sinuous and slithery, backlit a bit from the nightlight by the door. A small shadow dances along with him, his own body reflected against the walls of the loft from the brightness of the lightning.

Lance drums at the air, turns in circles, taps his feet, gesticulates with his hands and long fingers – he looks like he’s conducting, or perhaps charming a snake. The song builds to a crescendo as he dances back inside, sliding the door shut behind him. The cool air is a massive difference from the heat of outside, and he shivers lightly as the sweat on his chest dries quickly.

_it’s a lie I don’t believe it’s so it’s a lie_

He shuts his eyes and whirls to his own inner rhythm and demons – the music slows, and with one last synth riff, it stops.

Lancelot’s eyes open, and in the semi-blackness of the loft, he picks out Arthur, who’s standing by the couch, watching him with a guarded and hidden expression. Lance cocks an eyebrow, and removes the headphones, wincing as a few of his hairs get caught in the vinyl. Arthur cocks his own brow, and approaches without speaking. That has Lance wondering, and he rests his hands on his hips, his breathing slowing, his heart not hammering so hard from the dancing – although its speed revs again when Arthur stops only a few inches from him.

Arthur sticks his hand out, and wipes some of the drying sweat off of Lance’s pectoral. Lance continues to stay silent, his look betraying his bemusement as Arthur sticks a finger in his mouth and sucks on it, tasting Lancelot’s sweat.

“That’s – ” Lance starts to say, but Arthur makes a growly sound that has his mouth rapidly closing over whatever cute remark he was going to make. Arthur slinks – that is the only right word – to him, closing that gap and sticking his tongue out and _for god’s sake_ licks at the same spot on Lance’s chest.

“Fuck,” Lance sighs, and Arthur meets his eyes. Like the lightning outside – quicker – he bends, picks up Lance by the thighs, and slings him fireman style over his shoulder. Lance is too shocked and suddenly aroused to argue, although a deep laugh burbles up as he’s bouncing against Arthur’s back as they go upstairs.

The only light is still the Van Gogh, but all Lance can see now – all he needs to see, now – is the glow that comes from Arthur’s green, green eyes as the other man gazes at him. Lance raises his arms again, like he had while he was dancing, and winds them about Arthur’s neck as they lay on Arthur’s bed, bodies aligned and mouths claiming so hard they bruise. Sweat breaks out anew on Lance’s skin, and the song echoes in his mind as they tear at each other in passion and hate and love and desire and want. He cords his neck and throws his head back as Arthur slams into him, no words spoken, just hands and lips and fingers and flesh intertwined tightly, so tightly.

_I see you in a dream you turn and start to go_

“Arth – ” is all he can get out before his release floods him, and Lance bites his own lip and opens his eyes wide, imagining he can see the stars through the ceiling. Everything is transparent and liquid and they are moving within their own dance, lighting their own world with each other.

They sit on the bench on the deck later, wrapped in a large blanket and the other’s embrace, both men sleepy and satiated and only slightly sore. After a while Arthur cocks his head – he stops kissing slowly at Lancelot’s neck to look at him.

“Xanadu?” 

The words are slightly incredulous, but Lance doesn’t blush, or laugh, or groan. He smiles. “Yeah. It’s a good song.”

Arthur nods. “It’s sad, though.”

_Our love couldn’t go wrong_

Lancelot makes a sound, shrugs his shoulders. “Only if you don’t hear it here,” he touches Arthur’s chest, above his heart. “I felt it. I feel it. Music is music, Arthur.”

Arthur nods again, and if he doesn’t understand Lancelot, he doesn’t voice it.

_I take the fall._

**Author's Note:**

> Song lyrics by ELO.


End file.
